


helpless when the sky explodes

by hollyblue2



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Eating Disorders, Force-Feeding, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Inprisonment, M/M, Recovery, Suicidal Thoughts, pre-S12E03, pre-destiel, rape/non con is just for non con happening to dean but it's nothing sexual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 12:49:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10697349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyblue2/pseuds/hollyblue2
Summary: He’s been split up from his brother. Can’t even hear him, shout to him or anything. It’s like a part of him has been ripped from him and he sits in the corner of the cell, back to the wall and ass on the cold concrete floor.Food is shoved through a pass through but Dean doesn’t touch it, barely looks at it.





	helpless when the sky explodes

**Author's Note:**

> Just to reiterate: the non con is for non sexual acts towards Dean.  
> If there are any tags that you think I've missed, let me know.
> 
> I don't think I've written such a dark(??) piece for this fandom before so I'm kinda trying it out.
> 
> (Title from Into The Storm by Banners)

Dean’s not eaten since he got to the prison. It’s no normal prison though, granted it seems purpose built, but purpose built for non-humans. The cells are large and reinforced more than any human would even attempt to get through. There are wardings for everything possible and most Dean didn’t even recognise.

He’s been split up from his brother. Can’t even hear him, shout to him or anything. It’s like a part of him has been ripped from him and he sits in the corner of the cell, back to the wall and ass on the cold concrete floor.

Food is shoved through a pass through but Dean doesn’t touch it, barely looks at it.

Part of him tells him he should eat, maintain strength and get out of there but most of him tells him to give up.

“Winchester! Eat your damn food in the next ten minutes or you won’t get any.” One of the guards shouts.

Dean simply rests his head against the wall, choosing to stare at the damp patches on the ceiling and ignores his protesting stomach.

Everyone has to die eventually and if this is how he goes then so be it. If he just gets to see Sam one last time, then he’ll be happy. Maybe it’d give Sam a chance to get out while he dies – Sam would be out; he’d go back to the bunker and find Cas and they’ll be alright.

That is what he tells them anyway. They’ll be alright.

Dean’s hands are shaking as he cards a hand through his hair, hunger, exhaustion and just plain anxiety aren’t helping and he feels weak and useless as he keeps himself in the corner. Not sleeping, not eating.

The guards are getting more frustrated by the day as he leaves his food and taps the ground to AC/DC during the night.

Dean’s pretty sure he dozes off during the twelfth night. Only to be woken by horrific images of Sam, Cas and his mother being tortured, he can still hear their screams even though he’s awake. He puts his hands over its ears and squeezes his eyes shut.

_Not real, not real. NOT REAL._

There’s a clang as the push through opens and another tray of food appears.

Just the sight of it makes Dean want to throw up. He’s hungry, of course, but after the images of the nightmares, a poor excuse for Bolognese is the last thing he wants to see.

Goosebumps prickle his skin as a cool flush washes over him, followed quickly by an unsettling warmth. It makes him feel nauseous and his stomach turns. Acid gurgles in his throat and he pulls himself over to the metal toilet in the corner in time to throw up bile and nothingness. It hurts his throat. Burns and irritates his chest and it feels like all his organs are being squeezed.

Sitting back out of breath, head pounding as he sees the plastic cup of water sat in the tray. He’s dizzy as he gets hold of it, cup unsteady in his hands as he trickles the liquid into his mouth. It’s warm and unpleasant tasting but it’s well needed liquid.

The last drop drips into his mouth and Dean throws the cup half-heartedly at the wall with a clatter.

Suddenly he hears someone shout his name. It’s not a gruff chastise of his last name though. It’s softer, pained and distant.

“Sam?” Dean says, voice hoarse from disuse. He stumbled over to the bars and looked out desperately. He couldn’t see him, just an empty corridor of more cells and a few guards at one end.

“Dean! Help!” _That’s not Sam._ It can’t be Sam – he hasn’t seen or heard from him since he was piled into the back of the truck in chains.

“Sam?” He calls out. “Sam?” his voice is weak – he is weak. Delirium is beginning to set in, taunting and teasing him. He stumbles back in defeat and sits with his knees against his chest in the middle of the room. This is all kinds of fucked up.

“Ain’t no Sam, ‘ere.” A guard snarls, coming up close to the bars, his eyes are hooded and dark and he gives off an air of malice without even trying. He produces a tray of food and places it in the pass through. “This is your last chance to eat.”

“Not hungry,” Dean grunts with a frown.

“Don’t care if you’re hungry or not, you eat or we’ll make you.” He replies, eyeing the food as if that’s going you make Dean even remotely consider eating the food.

“Still ain’t hungry,” Dean tells him, trying to sound confident in his decision. Reality is _we’ll make you_ sounded ominous and not pleasant, but he isn’t about to give up now.

“Your choice.” The guard says and walks away.

Dean eyes the food for a mere moment before turning his back on it and facing the back wall. He relishes in his only source of light.

As the light dims and night time set in, Dean curls himself up in the corner with the blanket he’s been given. He clutches his stomach as it protests the lack of food and hates Dean for starving himself. He should just give up but he’s got enough stupid pride to not give in to their torments and sick promises.

Eyes drifting shut, he falls into nightmares and his own mind tormenting him about those he loves. Blood, torture, screams and pleads rattles in his ears until he jerks and wakes himself up with a bash to his head against the concrete wall.

Before he moves, Dean wipes his tear-filled eyes and does his best to calm himself down. It’s still dark outside but there is no chance of sleep now.

*

After several hours of pacing and sitting and pacing and sitting, light comes through the window meaning the guard will be along with Dean’s daily bowl of watery porridge which he’ll glance at but never eat.

Time passes and no one comes. Not a single guard in sight.

It’s eerily quiet and it unsettles Dean more than the usual stomping boots of guards in the corridor or the sound of the plastic food tray being almost thrown through the pass through.

Nothing happens for hours. The cell gets brighter as the day wears on and Dean’s mind is creating all sorts of crazy delusions. He’s sure he hears footsteps at one point but they never arrive. His throat becomes dry and his tongue like sand as he quickly dehydrates.

Stewing in his own thoughts with his back to the door, Dean doesn’t hear or notice the guard arrive. Several loud bangs of a truncheon against the metal bars startles Dean and he turns around to see the same hooded eyed guard that had taunted him about not giving Dean any more food.

Entering the cell, the guard crowds Dean but he stands his ground, levelling a glare either the guy. He’s not prepared when the guards connects his truncheon with Dean’s stomach in a swift blow that has Dean gagging and stumbling to his knees. Out of breath and trying to keep himself from throwing up the nothingness in his stomach, Dean doesn’t have a chance when more guards all dressed in black gear swarm into the small cell.

One takes a handful of his hair and pulls backwards, sending his back to the cold concrete floor. It is rough with only a thin set of coveralls on. His head is wedged between one of the guards thighs and he can’t move it left or right. A hand cups his chin, forcing his head back. He tries to kick out but one of the guards sit on his legs and two more pin his arms to his sides.

“Stop...” He gurgles. It’s hard to talk when his teeth are being held together.

“You were warned. Eat or we’ll make you.” The guard at his head tells him, moving himself so he’s in Dean’s eye line.

“Fuck you!” He grits. Nothing else is said to him and he feels like he’s been pinned down for ages when he sees a timid looking man appear in his vision carting a cloth package.

Dean knows exactly what’s going to happen. It’s not the first time he’s had a feeding tube, except he hadn’t been awake for it the last time.

The guards are eyeing the timid man to get on with it and Dean puts up a last bout of fight before clamping his eyes shut so he can’t see what’s happening.

Latex covered fingers touch his nose and then hard plastic. His instinct reaction is to get away from the intrusion and he shakes he head as best he can with it caught between a guard’s thighs.

“Stop moving or you’ll make it worse. Swallow when I tell you to. Don’t fight it.” Clear simple instructions all of which he’s happy to abide to if his body will let him. He doesn’t want it to hurt, he just wants it over and done with as soon as possible so he can be left alone again.

The hands return and this time, Dean forces himself to keep still and listen out to the man he assumes is some kind of doctor.

The tube is pushed into his left nostril and his eyes water as it catches the back of his nose uncomfortably.

He coughs and gags as it passes down his throat and he starts fighting it involuntarily. He’s so focused on the sensations of it sliding into him he doesn’t hear the doctor giving him instructions.  He swallows and again and the tube goes down easier but it still makes me gag after a while.

After what seems like an eternity, everything stops. Dean stops gagging on the tube and the doctor stops pushing. The guards stop holding him down so violently as well. It gives him a moment to breath.

“Pass the syringe.” The doctor instructs, he tapes the tube to his nose and the tape pulls against his skin uncomfortably. Dean opens his eyes again once the overwhelming sensation eases off and sees the doctor attach a syringe to the end of the tube filled with air. He has a stethoscope hanging from his ears and seems to trust the guards to hold him still as he lets go and depresses the syringe as he listens to Dean stomach.

Seemingly happy with the tube’s placement, he detaches the syringe and connects up a bag of opaque, pinkish fluid that looks less than appetising. Dean shuts his eyes again because he doesn’t want to see _that_ disappearing into him. He feels like an idiot for not seeing this coming – they had warned him and he refused to listen, hoping he’d die before this happened.

His thoughts turn to his brother, the one that’s probably sat in the room next to him wholly unaware of what’s happening to him. He regrets trying not to get out, he regrets trying not to get his brother out but he doesn’t regret not telling them anything.

He tries one last time to struggle free, twisting his body but the guards hold his weakened body fast. He gags once before trying to talk, he can feel the tube in the back of his throat and he swallows several times reflexively but it doesn’t help the strange sensation of the tube.

“Let us go...” Dean says, voice hoarse from the invasive treatment.

“Not until they get the information they want from you.” The guard trapping his head tells him.

“Let my brother go. I...” Dean’s about to tell them he’ll sacrifice himself for his brother when there’s a crash outside.

Several grunts and yells can be heard but Dean can’t see what’s going on. He hopes the guards holding him down will get up to go help but they only hold him harder with no sense of letting go.

Dean casts his eyes over to the doctor who is holding up the bag of feed high with a terrified look on his face. As the sounds of someone coming their way get closer the doctor shrinks in on himself like he wants to get away but can’t leave because of Dean. Dean suspects the doctor isn’t here on his own free will which is unfortunate when whoever is making a racket outside enters Dean’s cell and promptly breaks the man’s neck from behind. The half bag of fluid hits the floor with a slap and Dean flinches.

“Dean?” He knows that voice. One by one, Dean can feel the weight of the guards leave him as they’re all killed or knocked out. Dean still doesn’t move even when he’s free to move. He just can’t.

“Cas?” Dean opens his eyes slowly and flexes his fingers. Cas is looking slightly worse for wear and Dean remembers seeing all the warding around the place. He doesn’t know how Cas got inside but he’s glad he’s here.

Dean looks up to Cas’ soft blue eyes and smiles gently. “Where’s Sam?”

“Outside, I told him to go find Mary outside. He refused at first but I promised him I’d find you. What happened to you?”

Dean’s stomach sinks and it’s an uncomfortable feeling when it feels heavy with the lump of food (if it can even be classed as that) sitting in his stomach. He knows what Cas is on about, he hyper aware that there’s a tube stuck to his face and he’s not looking forward to removing it.

“They didn’t like it when I stopped eating.” Dean replies quietly.

Cas narrows his eyes with concern and confusion.

“I know, not exactly like me but I didn’t have much to play with if I wanted to get Sam out of here, or just...”

“... not be here at all.” Cas finishes for him.

Dean sighs and Cas picks his body off the floor and pulls it into an unexpected embrace. He’s warm and it feels so good in comparison to the cold, concrete floor.

“Will you take it out? I... don’t think I can do it myself.” Dean asks quietly. His heart beats with anxiety and he knows hell end up coughing and gagging afterwards, he just hopes he doesn’t throw up.

“Of course, Dean. I would use my grace if I could but the warding on this building is strong. It took a lot of effort to get myself in here without destroying my vessel.” Cas explains. Gentle hands touch Dean’s face and remove the tape. It pulls as it peels off his skin with a pinch but it’s gone which is a start.

“Just pull it out in one go...” Dean instructs. He knows how this goes and he knows it will be less than pleasant but he’s not prepared to face his brother like this, he’ll ask questions he doesn’t want to answer as usual.

“Ready?” Dean just gives Cas an incredulous look and Cas looks at him with a sour expression in return.

Dean swallows reflexively as Cas takes hold of the tube and Dean amps himself up ready. He’s not ready though and Cas pulls anyway all the way out in a swift movement.

Dean retches several times and is barely able to take a breath but eventually he calms and Cas is close to him, holding his shoulders gently having discarded the tube behind them.

“Fuck...” Dean says hoarsely.

“You’re okay, Dean.” Cas gives him a gentle smile and keeps hold of him, steadying him.

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean struggles to his feet, but Cas is there to help him. Once stood, Cas draws Dean into a hug, startling Dean. In the past, Dean had always been the one to instigate a hug, with Cas cottoning on shortly after. This feels good though and Dean wraps his arms around him. His arms feel weak and his legs like jelly but they hold each other for a long time.

“Don’t ever think of trying to kill yourself again, Dean.” Cas whispers. “You’re family. _You_ told me that. The last thing I would have wanted to see would have been your body in this room. Mary and I have been looking for you and Sam for weeks. We never gave up. I don’t want to lose you, Dean. You mean too much to me; to everything.”

Dean’s stomach tightens at the words. “How long were we gone?”

“Six weeks, two days, ten hours.”

“Not that you were counting.” Dean says, small smile of his lips as he pulls out of the embrace. Over six weeks of no one coming near him save the guards he’s already missing Cas’ touch.

“Of course not.” Cas replies and Dean’s grin brightens even though he’s hurting inside.

“Let’s get out of here before Sam and mom start worrying.” They leave side by side, Dean glances down at Cas hand and his heart aches to touch it but he refrains. He isn’t that desperate surely.

Outside, Mary embraces her son tightly and Dean can barely move his arms to hug back. Instead, he presses a light kiss to her head before smiling over at his brother who’s hugging Cas.

It’s late already and Mary sleeps in the back seat as Cas gazes out the window to the stars. Dean wonders if he misses heaven still and maybe the stars help. He’s probably reading too much into it but it’s a thought.

“You okay, Dean?” Sam asks quietly, giving him a nudge.

“Sure I am. Nothing I haven’t done before.” The lie comes out easily. Sure, it could never par up with hell but it was certainly its own kind of something. Dean doesn’t want to talk to his puppy-eyed brother about it either. “What about you? How you holding up?”

“Yeah, not so bad. They didn’t really bother me so much after I didn’t tell them anything for the first few days. I exercised most of the time.”

“’Course you did.”

“There wasn’t much else to do. Can’t imagine what you did.” Dean makes a non-committal sound and shrugs his shoulders in response. He’s not going there.

Eventually reaching the bunker, Dean pulls Baby into the garage and steps out the car quietly. Cas shakes Mary awake and she jolts before realising where she is and hops out.

“I’m gonna hit the hay,” She tells them and gives both Sam and Dean a hug, telling them that she loves them and heading off to her room.

“Yeah, I’m exhausted. I’m gonna go lie on a bed that doesn’t feel like it’s made of concrete and read for a bit.” Sam adds. He smiles over at Dean and heads off to bed, leaving Dean and Cas alone.

Cas doesn’t sleep and Dean doesn’t feel like sleeping despite feeling like he’s dead on his feet after the four-hour drive back. Instead he heads to the kitchen and pulls two whiskey tumblers from the cupboard along with his stashed Bourbon – the one that’s half empty that Sam doesn’t know about.

Cas follows him into the kitchen silently and sits down opposite Dean who’s pouring out two generous portions. Dean wonders what Cas must be thinking when he slides the whiskey across to him. Handing whiskey to someone who needs an entire liquor store to just feel something must be odd.

“Dean...”

“No talking; drinking only.” Dean instructs. His words are already slightly slurred from tiredness but Cas just nods and picks up his glass. Dean watches as Cas sips the liquid with no reaction and huffs a quiet laugh.

After three generous glasses, Dean’s words are even more slurred and he can feel himself dropping off. Everything he closes his eyes, though, the sound of Sam yelling hits him. It hadn’t even been real and he can still hear it as clear as day. He envisions what he looked like trapped on the floor by the guards as they force fed him even though he knows rationally whatever he’s seeing is probably wildly inaccurate.

Dean vaguely hears the sound of a chair scraping but he doesn’t move or look to see that Cas is now behind him. Hands on his shoulders and Dean flinches unintentionally.

“You should at least sleep in your own bed, Dean.” Cas says gently close to his ear. The warm breath feels nice against his neck and it smells of whiskey, just like his own.

Dean shakes his head. “I’m not sleeping.”

“Dean, you’re being a stubborn child.” Cas tells him, shaking his shoulder as Dean’s eyes droop shut again.

“Not a child. Never was.” Dean says quietly, with something akin to sadness or longing. A hand tugs at his arm and he acquiesces and stands up on drunkenly tired, wobbly legs and lets himself be led to his bedroom.

Dean’s conscious brain is fully aware that Cas is unbuttoning his olive prisoner overalls and is fully aware that he’s only wearing boxers underneath but his drunk brain doesn’t care and let’s it happen as he closes his eyes and let’s his head rest on Cas’ shoulder.

Dean’s conscious brain knows he’ll hate himself for this in the morning but his drunk brain still doesn’t care.

“Step out, Dean.” Cas instructs.

“I can do it.” Dean grumbles and staggers out of the leg holes before landing ungracefully on his bed with a slight squeak from the bed springs.

Dean wriggles himself under the sheets before turning on his side and drifting off. The alcohol in his system seems to be dulling Sam’s hallucinogenic yells a little better than before.

He can tell Cas is leaving the room so he grunts loudly to make him pause. “Stay here.”

“Dean...”

“Please. Don’t tell me you didn’t miss me, Cas.”

“Dean...” Dean watches through bleary eyes as Cas’ face softens and gives in. Dean feels the bed dip behind him as Cas lies down. It feels nice to have someone in his bed and not just some nameless chicken he drunkenly picked up. Granted, he may have just drunkenly picked up Cas but at least it’s someone he knows and cares about.

“Go to sleep, Dean.”

“Yeah,”

*

By morning, when Dean opens his eyes, Cas is still lying beside Dean reading in what must be an awkward position with Dean’s arms slung over him.

“Sorry...” Dean’s voice is thick with sleep as he moves his arms and most of his body away from Cas.

“It was fine. I didn’t mind.”

Dean yawns and looks up at Cas who’s reading his over-read copy of Slaughterhouse Five. The spine is cracked in several places and the hardcover is barely hanging on, Dean’s pretty sure many of the pages have lost their glue and that at least one is missing. He doesn’t care and even though Sam stole him a new copy from one of his college friends for Christmas one year he can’t bring himself to get rid of this copy.

“I can understand why you like this book, Dean.”

“Lot of the time, it was all I had to read. Didn’t like it when I first read it.” Dean explains, rolling on his side and propping himself up on an elbow.

“I can see that.”

“Perhaps I just learned to like it or maybe I began to understand the concepts more, I don’t know... hey... um,” Dean’s brow furrows and Cas looks at him with his ever-adoring eyes which doesn’t do anything to negate what he’s about to ask Cas. “We... didn’t.... um...”

“Dean?”

“We didn’t... you know... have um... sex last night, did we?”

“No. You were tired and I got you out of your clothes and that was it. Practically out like a lamp.”

“light...”

“lamplight?”

“No, just ‘out like a light’. And that’s... okay. Yeah...” Dean breathes a sigh of relief. He knows he wouldn’t have exactly minded really, it’s been something he’s been thinking about more and more frequently anyway but he wanted to remember if they _had_ done something.

“I can make you coffee if you would like? You look like you could do with some.” Cas’ hand is on Dean’s arm and it makes tingles run over his skin. He can’t remember the last time he really felt like that with someone else.

Dean makes an offended face. “What are you trying to say?”

“Merely suggesting that you looked like you needed a caffeine boost.”

“Right, of course you were. What time is it?” Dean asks, trying to look over at the clock on Cas’ side.

“Just after eleven,”

“Sam’ll have coffee going already, C’mon.” Dean takes a deep breath and launches himself out of bed. It takes him a moment to realise he’s only wearing a pair of boxers. He catches Cas’ eyes and sees that his cheeks are tinged pink and he averts his eyes.

“I’ll leave you to... um... get dressed.” And with that, Cas is out the door, closing it softly behind him.

When Dean looks down at himself he can see how his ribs and hips jut out where there once was toned muscles and a slight purge from many pies and beers. He’s a little surprised that he lost so much weight so quick but he just grimaces and throws on a t-shirt and a plaid shirt to hide it from sight.

When he enters the kitchen, Cas is already nursing a cup of coffee and Sam is shovelling lucky charms like it’s going out of fashion. Dean smiles and his stomach rumbles as he spots the plate of several pancakes drowned in maple syrup and topped with the crispiest of bacon. Any other time he would have scarfed it in moment but he knows after weeks of not eating it’s the worst idea ever. Instead, he sits calmly and forks off small pieces that aren’t covered in the sweet stickiness. Sam gives him a look but ignores him as he pours himself another bowl of cereal. When Dean looks over at Cas, he finds the other man’s face laced with concern; Dean just gives him a tight smile and carries on eating. Right now, Dean would give anything to finish his plate of pancakes but he knows without a doubt he’ll just end up hugging the toilet. His stomach fills quickly and after only a few bites, Dean lays his fork down quietly and puts the pancake leftovers on the side. He pretends not to see Sam eyeing him and heads out the kitchen back to his room.

It’s stupid; he knows it’s going to be a process to get back to eating cheeseburgers and downing coke and whiskey like there’s no tomorrow, but he’s not going to be able to hide it from Sam for long.  Dean lies down on his bed, face down, and burying his face in his pillow. He doesn’t even hear anyone come in because he’s lost in thought, so he startles when the bed dips and a hand rests over his shoulder blade. He instantly knows it’s Cas, his hands are cool and smaller than Sam’s and he’s pretty sure Sam would just linger by the door and worry over Dean by himself.

“Sam’s worried about you.” Just what he expected.

Dean doesn’t reply but turns himself on his back as resting on his stomach is making him feel sick.

“Can’t you just mojo me to like I was before?” Dean wonders not looking at Cas and subconsciously running a hand over his ribs where they stick out.

A hand rests on top of his own so Dean looks over to Cas, his eyes are sad and concerned. “It doesn’t work like that, Dean.” He tells him sadly. He wishes he could make Dean better but he can’t.

“So much for friggin’ angels,” Dean grumbles under his breath. As soon as he says it he regrets his words and chances a look at Cas. He doesn’t look offended, just saddened and guilty.

“Sorry,” Cas murmurs.

 _Shit_. He didn’t mean that whatsoever and now Cas looks so broken and upset. “No, Cas. I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry, I’m just-” Dean cuts himself off. He can’t hide this with lame excuses. “I’m sorry.”

Dean sits up and takes Castiel’s hand within his own much to his own surprise. Castiel doesn’t seem to mind and doesn’t comment.

“It’s okay, Dean.”

“I’m just tired, Cas.” Dean admits. He’s both physically tired from a lack of decent sleep during the night and from the past six weeks, and emotionally tired as well. It’s his own fault. He put himself through a worse ordeal than he needed to and it didn’t even get him anywhere except being too sick to even eat properly.

“Would you like to go back to sleep? I’m sure Sam and I can keep ourselves amused for a while.” Cas asks, he lets Dean hold his hand and doesn’t dare try to take it back. Castiel realises that maybe Dean needs him more than he originally thought.

“Sam can live without us for a few hours.” Dean hopes Castiel understands what he’s meaning without asking him to stay but the squint and head tilting to one side signalling that he doesn’t. Dean lies down on his side facing Cas and doesn’t really let go of Cas, holding onto his fingers lightly. Cas smiles down at him and seems to understand. Dean’s thankful for it as Cas lays down beside him and they’re quiet.

Dean’s never really thought about them before. He has thought about _them_ but not like this. Not holding hands with tired eyes in bed after a bad day – hell, it’s been a horrendous few weeks. It’s nice though, he feels strangely rested and perhaps Cas is leaking some of his grace into Dean or perhaps Dean just likes that Castiel is there for him. He loves his brother – more than anything – but he can sure fire endless questions at him when he least wants it. With Castiel, there’s a sereneness to resting. His heart doesn’t pound like he’s expecting someone or something to crash through the door, his mind is drifting instead of being one hundred percent alert, his body is relaxed and breathing even.

“Sleep, Dean.” Castiel whispers. Shy fingers crest across his cheek and ear, calm and sleepiness following slowly. Dean doesn’t dream.

**Author's Note:**

> Any feedback is welcome, I hope people enjoyed this piece, it's certainly different to other things I've written.


End file.
